Beyond Simplicity
by Larna Mandrea
Summary: The war has been over for six years, but the healing has just begun. Hermione, Ron, and Harry try to put their lives back together while remembering that there is more than one source of evil in the world.
1. Family

_**Beyond Simplicity**_

_Authored by Larna Mandrea, Sixth Year Gryffindor_

_Start date: August 7, 2004_

**Disclaimer: JKR owns everything in the Hogwarts universe. If it was I, Tom Riddle would be the Half Blood Prince and the series would revolve around Susan Bones. Maybe we should be thankful Jo owns it all.**

**A/N: Don't worry, I'm not abandoning Missing Elements or Lesser Glory, this story just kept developing with such intensity that I had to put it up as soon as possible. This first chapter is extremely fluffy, but the story would gain depth as it progresses. This all takes place six years after the war ended in the trio's seventh year, and you'll get all other details as you go. Now, read, review, and enjoy! Thanks!**

_Chapter 1: Family_

Hermione sat at a large desk, poring determinedly over past legislation to reference in the equal-opportunity proposal she had spent the last three months preparing. This was her one big chance to cause change in the wizarding world, and she was set on success. Still, the research was tedious and, combined wither her usual reports for the Ministry, the work was beginning to wear on her more than she cared to admit.

With a sigh, Hermione allowed herself to become distracted by the calendar that taunted her from the corner of her well-organized desktop. "June 26th," she read aloud, her voice distant as she let her mind drift to old memories. It had been six years ago today that it had all happened...

Six years since Voldemort had fallen.

Six years since Ginny had left them.

Six years since Harry had given up on the world.

Harry. Poor, poor, Harry Potter. She and Ron had prevented him from doing anything drastic, namely killing himself, but they couldn't save him from the guilt and blame that was eating the boy-who-lived-against-his-will alive.

It had been six years, she realized vaguely, since they had last seen Harry.

A soft pop from the kitchen brought Hermione back to her senses with frightening rapidity. She was positive she knew who it was, but the war had left them all with a considerable degree of paranoia. No one was without enemies, even the most innocent of the wizarding world. Cautiously, she secured steady grip on her wand, but relaxed it when Ron strolled in lazily with an apple in hand.

"Hungry, were we?" she commented in greeting while raising an eyebrow of amusement. He responded with her favorite lopsided grin and a loving embrace.

"I skipped dinner just to come home to my wonderful wife, and all you can do is talk about my level of starvation?"

Hermione shook her head and laughed gently. "Ron Weasley, there has never yet been a time when your stomach has not ruled your decisions. Besides, it's nearly ten o'clock. Who has dinner at this hour?"

The redhead grinned sheepishly for a moment, then caught a glimpse of her workstation and countered, "Who slaves away for the Ministry at this hour?"

"I'm not really working," she replied softly, placing a kiss on his freckled cheek. Ron returned the gesture and whispered, "I love you, Hermione Weasley." The girl merely closed her eyes and murmured her love her him as well, her mind blank as she savored the moment. This was the Ron Weasley she had come to love.

This was the Ronald Bilius Weasley that had asked her to marry her... six years ago today. "Happy Anniversary," she said in low voice. "You too," he responded with a loving smile. "We'll celebrate next week, just like I promised."

"Just like always," agreed Hermione, burying her face tenderly in his shoulder.

Five seconds later, Ron took a loud bite of his apple and the mood was ruined. Noticing his wife's pained expression, he quickly set the offending fruit down and offered an apologetic, "Sorry." It would have been more effective, thought Hermione bemusedly, if he'd finished chewing the bite of food before he'd spoken.

This was, without a doubt, the Ron Weasley she had first met at Hogwarts, and she loved him all the same.

"Is Nev upstairs?" he asked with a smile, setting down his bright orange briefcase. Two black C's were emblazoned upon its surface, making evident his position as publicist for the Chudley Cannons. Hermione hated that "putrid suitcase," as she referred to it, but Ron counted it among his prized possessions.

"Yes," replied Hermione, sitting back down with a small sigh. "She's asleep."

"No I'm not!" came the indignant cry of the bushy-haired four-year-old who was now bounding eagerly down the stairs with a triumphant grin. "Daddy!" she squealed as she ran into Ron's outstretched arms.

He twirled her around in a circle for a minute, his face glowing at the sound of her satisfied carefree giggles. "Now why isn't my Nevvie asleep?" he asked as he playfully tickled his daughter in the stomach.

"Not for lack of trying," murmured Hermione with a sad smile. Her daughter reminded her so forcibly of her old school friend sometimes that it was painful.

The four year old simply offered a proud, toothy grin at this and began to race around the room with seemingly endless amounts of energy.

"I found a stash of Sugar Shockers in her closet. Fred and George must have left them yesterday when they stopped by," explained Hermione, watching as Nev twirled rapidly in a circle before collapsing and dissolving into manic giggles.

The twins had experienced great success with Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, and it was now a favorite among school-aged wizards and witches, although their parents and teachers tried to keep them away at all costs.

Ron chuckled as he hoisted Nev onto his shoulders. "Back to bed with you!" he announced, carrying his young daughter up the stairs amid her hollered protests. Hermione followed the pair with a weary smile, appreciating just how lucky she was to have such a wonderful family.

The war had left so many families torn and broken; both the Bones and Longbottom bloodlines had died out, and only half the of the trio's year had survived to celebrate the victory.

Hermione watched as Ron tenderly set Nev down and tucked her in lovingly; the effects of the Sugar Shocker was wearing off rapidly and the four-year-old was snoring loudly in minutes.

Ron flicked the light off effortlessly with his wand as he rejoined his wife in the doorway, silently admiring her silhouette.

"Show-off," muttered Hermione teasingly before she was silenced with a kiss. Ron snaked an arm around her waist, and together they walked back down to the living room. Hermione moved to turn on the wireless, but Ron hastily stopped her.

"Did you forget what day it is?" he asked gingerly, taking a seat.

Hermione heaved a great sigh at this and flopped down miserably beside her husband on the couch, allowing her head to tip onto his shoulder. "I didn't forget, it just... didn't register," she admitted, her voice soft and cautious.

"I know," he murmured, absentmindedly stroking her hair. "It's awful, though. All they talk about. Him. Harry. Us. All of it." He let out a long breath. "Six years, Hermione. I just can't believe its been six years."

She mumbled her assent, fighting tears as her mind filled with memories. It was all so easy to see, as clear as though it had just happened. That horrible look on Harry's face as he unfolded the Daily Prophet... Ron screaming that Death Eaters had made it through the wards... Ginny, dueling her life away alongside the rest of the D.A... the pile of ash that Lord Voldemort dissolved into... even six years later, the thoughts were vivid.

"I wish I had a pensieve," she thought out loud.

Ron nodded. "Yeah, that would be nice." He paused, and then asked with concern, "Would you show Nev?"

Hermione fidgeted, not wanting to think about it anymore. "Does she really need to see it? I mean, she'll learn everything in school anyway," she answered, her voice pleading.

"We _lived _it, Hermione."

At this, the woman couldn't suppress a sigh of frustration. "Wasn't living it once enough? How many times are we going to have to relive it! I just want it to go away!" She began to cry quietly, burying her head in the folds of his cloak. The war had robbed them of all their peace and patience, leaving their emotions raw and untamed.

"The past doesn't go away," Ron reminded his wife softly, quoting the words she had directed at Harry during their seventh year.

"I know," murmured Hermione, suddenly overcome with exhaustion. "I just wish it wasn't so much of the future."

Ron agreed wholeheartedly, but he decided not to say anything further on the subject. The war may have ended six years ago, but the healing had barely begun.

"Are we going to floo to the memorial service?" asked Hermione timidly, fingering the fringe at the end of his sleeve. She knew it was dangerous to switch from one tender topic to another, but she couldn't stand any more thoughts of their seventh year.

"Yeah, since we're taking Nev with us," answered Ron quietly. Every year, the Weasleys gathered to remember Ginny near the anniversary of her death.

"Well then, I'm going to bed. Tomorrow is going to be a tough day," said Hermione, rising and heading up the stairs.

Ron nodded his agreement, then called after her, "I'll be up in a few minutes." He twisted to watch her retreating back and waited for it to disappear fully into the bedroom. When it had, he flicked on the wireless quietly, so as not to disturb the women in the house. Two radio announcers were on, discussing the day's celebrations.

"That was the latest from the Weird Sisters, titled _Accio Heartthrob_. You've tuned in for our all day celebration of free, free, FREEDOM! That's right, folks, in case you've been vacationing on Neptune, today marks the sixth anniversary of the defeat of that nasty dark lord!"

"Many thanks to the boy-who-lived, wherever he might be."

"I don't know why he's hiding, Mick, because the local pubs are handing out all the best stuff! Butterbeer, firewhisky, fizzale, you name it—the night is young and we're going to party until the stars fall!"

"Although it looks to me as though that might have already have happened, Lee."

"Oh, shaddup, mate, you're just drunk."

"Right you are! Anyway, back to that sweet, sweet music. The Dueling Nifflers are up next with their underground hit, _Ooh Shiny_! "

At this point, Ron flicked off their drunken banter and rested his head in his hands. "Harry, mate, what've you done with yourself," he muttered aloud in frustration. "What the bloody hell are you doing," he said again, feeling so much pain for his best friend.

Little did he know that miles away, the man called Harry Potter was thinking the exact same thing.


	2. Remembering

**Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, I would not be sitting through a bunch of exams this week. Simple logic.**

**A/N: Yes, I have finally updated. My muse has come back to me (hoorah!) and I'm starting to feel out this story. If anyone would like to beta-read for me, I'd very much appreciate it. Special thanks to Funny-Gal, R.K. Thompson, Never Knowing, Quills 'N Ink, and En Parodia for your reviews—you make me feel so loved. I'm rather pleased with this chapter, and I hope you are too. Please don't forget to review! Thanks, and as always, enjoy!**

_Chapter 2: Remembering_

Five o' clock in the morning found Hermione Weasley awake with a cup of coffee, poring over Ministry documents once more in an effort to distract herself from the nightmares that had once again plagued her dreams. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't get that picture of the final battle out of her head.

The shot had become famous; a photographer from the Prophet had actually captured one unbelievable frame where a group of twelve Hogwarts students, all that remained at that point of Dumbledore's Army, battled fiercely against a seemingly endless wall of death eaters. It had shocked the Wizarding World when the photo was published the next day; the entire war seemed summed up in the desperate expressions of those twelve courageous youth fighting what seemed a hopeless battle.

It was an image that didn't fade.

Upon realizing that she had been staring off into space for nearly an hour, lost in thoughts about that day, Hermione gave up on her work and went to the kitchen to fix breakfast. Cooking was a hobby that she'd found rather comforting, once Molly had shown her tricks with magic to speed up the process. Twenty minutes later, three plates full of blueberry pancakes were warm and on the table, and Hermione was much more calm and composed. Sometimes it was only the most menial of tasks that could effectively overtake her thoughts. Cooking and brushing her daughter's hair were the best ways she'd found of distracting herself, although she couldn't begin to explain why.

As if on cue, Nev's face appeared between two rails of the banister. "Is breakfast ready?" she asked, looking hopeful.

Hermione smiled sweetly up at her little girl. "Yes, and I fixed your favorite. No, you know the rule," she chided as Nev began to run down the stairs, "We eat breakfast as a family."

The child pouted for a moment, but then brightened when she realized what that meant. "Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!" she cried as she ran back up to her father's bedroom.

Sounds of a mattress creaking could be heard from downstairs as Nev clambered up onto her father's bed and began to jump up and down while chanting for Ron to get up. Hermione laughed as she imagined the scene, summoning some milk and dividing it up for the three of them. Squeals issued from the bedroom, and a moment later Ron emerged, carrying a delighted Nev by her feet. Her face had turned bright red as all the blood rushed to it, and the look on the young girl's face was priceless.

After a moment of victorious laughter, Ron set his daughter down and said, "So that's what happens when you wake Daddy up before he's ready." Nev giggled once more before racing down the stairs, her father following at a slightly slower pace and yawning.

"Morning," he said when he reached the kitchen, leaning over to peck Hermione on the cheek. "Up early, I see."

"Yes, well, someone's got to feed you two," she reminded him with a smile. "Oh, Ginevra, elbows _off_ the table," she added sharply to her daughter.

For a while, the only noises that could be heard were the sounds of a contented family eating breakfast and the steady ticking of a small clock that was mounted on the wall in the corner. At six-thirty, the timepiece emitted a tune reminiscent of phoenix song, and Ron looked up from his plate. "We're supposed to be there at seven, yes?" he asked his wife as though he'd just remembered.

"Yes, so finish up; we need to floo over in about twenty minutes to make sure we get there in time," responded Hermione, rising to clean and reshelf her dishes.

* * *

Hermione stepped out of the fireplace at the Burrow to a wealth of comforting sights; Molly had Nev in a tight embrace, Ron was talking quietly with his father, Percy was cooing over Fred and Angelina's newborn boy, George and Charlie were eating muffins at the table, and Bill was watching his two children alongside his wife Marie, who was expecting.

Molly immediately swept forward to gather Hermione in a hug, and the witch wished for a moment that they could gather like this more often under less depressing circumstances. "It's so nice to have the family all together again," whispered Mrs. Weasley gently. When they pulled apart, Hermione was not surprised to see tears already streaking Molly's face. Arthur stepped up and put an arm around his wife, offering quiet welcome to Hermione before looking around and addressing the room as a whole.

"Well, since everyone's here, I suppose we should head over before the crowds get too huge. There should be plenty of floo to go around, I just got a new jar yesterday." With that, he extended the jar to Bill, who took it with a grave look on his face. He took a small handful of the powder, passed the jar to his wife, and then tossed the floo powder into the fireplace, calling out, "The War Remembrance Museum!" as he stepped into the flames.

Solemnly, the rest of the group began to floo over to the memorial site; they silently gathered one by one in the crowded lobby of the museum.

"Come here, sweetie," murmured Hermione as she brushed some soot from Nev's sleeve. The rest of the Weasleys waited quietly as Charlie and George emerged from the flames before beginning their journey to the memorial.

The museum walls were filled with displays and histories of the various wars, all arranged in chronological order. Colin Creevey and his wife Annalise, a Ravenclaw four years his senior, had started the museum a few years after the war with Voldemort had ended. In an effort to educate the wizarding world about the horrors of their past, the pair spent a year and a half gathering pictures, newspaper articles, ministry records, news broadcasts, war relics, and memories of the wars from any and everyone they could. The result was the War Remembrance Museum: one half a preservation of history and the other a tribute to those who had fallen for the light.

The family moved forward silently through the various halls and exhibits, nodding respectfully to the others who had come to pay tributes to their heroes or to remind themselves just how lucky they were to still be alive.

"Mummy," said Nev in a small voice, tugging lightly on Hermione's sleeve. "Will you carry me?"

Within an instant, Ron had scooped up his daughter and was hoisted her onto his back. She immediately threw her arms around his neck and rested her chin on his shoulder, turning her eyes back to the all-too-familiar museum walls.

Hermione gave her husband a slightly disapproving look, and he slid his free hand around her waist reassuringly, drawing her close to him. Nev was certainly old enough to not need to be carried, as Hermione constantly reminded her husband, but Ron was never fully comfortable in such a pristine place memorializing such harsh and horrible wars and he wanted to keep his family close.

Hermione understood this and matched her husband's stride, trying to keep her head clear. It wouldn't do to break down here, she thought sadly as they passed a group of awestruck home-schooled children watching one of Dumbledore's less traumatic memories of Grindlewald.

"Wow," said one of the little boys. "It looks so real."

"No surprise, Merlin," snapped a taller girl with pigtails. "That's 'cus it is."

It certainly was, thought Hermione as they left the hall, it's all too real. Sliding closer to her husband, she tried once again to silence her thoughts as they entered the corridor documenting the last war. The area was packed with witches and wizards who had come to remember the all-too-recent victory of the light, and the general tragedy that was the epic final battle.

The crowds parted as much as possible in thebusy hall, and the noise from moments before quieted to near silence as the visitors recognized the Weasley party making their way through. Some in the crowd offered words of gratitude or hushed condolences, while others simply stood in quiet respect for the family that had given so much for the wizarding world.

For Hermione, the silence was nearly unbearable. She wanted to scream or cry out at the reality of it all, but she knew that would accomplish nothing. Instead, she clung to her husband, trying once more in vain to clear her thoughts.

After what seemed an eternity, the family entered the memorial chamber. The walls all around them were engraved with the names of the fallen, and the room was filled with sobbing parents and pensive widows who were leaving their remembrances around a large statue that both triumphant and tragic at the same time.

Colin had initially wanted it to be a statue of Harry, but Hermione and Ron had flat-out refused. It took the couple nearly two months to convince Creevey not to place too much unnecessary attention on the feats of the boy-who-lived, explaining that Harry would be more offended than honored by the action.

Hermione was pleased with the statue that was chosen, though; every time she saw it, she was strongly reminded of Harry and Ginny. Two figures stood side by side, symbols of the light. The witch had a single tear frozen on one cheek, and her mouth was open as though she was calling out a curse; her brow was furrowed and her robes were set in ripples as though a mighty wind was arresting her. Beside her, a taller scar-faced wizard looked dangerously off into the distance, his eyes narrowed in determination and his stance commanding. Both of their wands were raised evenly, tips touching in a symbol of unification, and their heads were raised, bravely waiting for whatever would befall them.

The inscription on the base beneath them read, "For the ones who fell; for the ones who fall; for the ones who gave for us all." Hermione bowed her head in a moment of reflection, and then the group progressed as a whole to the back wall, which bore Ginny's name along with so many others.

The Weasleys all huddled together in front of the right panel of the wall, staring as one at the delicate script paying eternal tribute to one Ginevra Molly Weasley. Bill stepped forward first, placing two fingers on her name, and the others closed in around him, drawing off each other for strength. "Ah, Gin," he said tenderly, "We miss you so much."

He stepped back after another moment and was replaced by Charlie, who offered similar sentiments. The remembrance continued in this fashion as Weasley after Weasley offered their thoughts to their only sister. Ron gently set Nev on the ground just before his turn,then stepped forward and placed his entire hand lovingly on his sister's name. "I know it was tough for all of us, Ginny," he whispered with his eyes closed, "but you've done us all proud. We'll never forget you."

Hermione sniffled weakly and leaned on her husband when he slid back into the protective circle, his face uncharacteristically blank. Molly and Arthur made their final statements, and once they had rejoined thegroup everyone spoke together, "We will always remember."

Bill was the first to break the circle after they had finished, wiping his face and walking purposefully outside, his family not far behind. Hermione hadn't realized how close he was to Ginny until after the war, when she had witnessed his breakdown that tragic night when they received word that the Ginny's body had been found.

The group dispersed slowly, all of them eventually making their way outside for the service that was to start in another twenty minutes. People had already begun to sit in the rows of chairs had been set up around stage that was just barely visible from the museum's back exit. The back doors opened into a rather large field that was used for various festivals during the year, as well as for more solemn events such as the memorial service that was taking place today.

Ron lead Hermione and Nev to a row of seats near the back, since none of the other Weasleys had claimed any spots yet. In fact, the only person near them was a small figure two rows back who was wearing a large black cloak with a closed hood so that their face was hidden from view. Hermione couldn't help but think of the death eaters in their hooded costumes, and she shivered involuntarily. Ron placed a reassuring hand on her knee, and she looked back at him with a weak smile of gratitude. Memories like that were far too frequent in places like these. Bill and his family came and sat by them a few minutes later, and the rest of the Weasleys filled up the row quickly after them.

The service began at eight-thirty, and it was a sad and solemn affair. Many tears were shed as different speeches were made about the past war and those who served in it. The service was being broadcast live to everyone, and the entire magical community seemed to stop for those two hours as the most well known figures in the wizarding world addressed the public at large.

The Minister of Magic was in the middle of his speech when Hermione realized that she was being watched. She had felt that familiar tingle on the back of her neck, the same as when she was at Hogwarts, and she slid closer to Ron for protection, placing an arm tightly around Nev's shoulders.

Ron looked over at his wife, worried, but she shook her head. "I just don't like being stared at," she murmured in a near-whisper, and Ron stroked Hermione's hair comfortingly. He knew the feeling. For a while as a student at Hogwarts, he had envied Harry's fame, but now that he had something similar, he realized just how truly unnerving it was to be watched constantly. It had started after those first news reports after the final battle, and it hadn't stopped sense.

Dumbledore stepped up to give his speech, and Hermione tried to focus her attention on his words. Still, the feeling of being watched was unsettling, so she turned slightly to look over her shoulder and try and determine who was looking at her. She'd found that if you made eye contact with the person looking at you, they'd often become self-conscious and stop staring.

Hermione scanned the crowd discreetly, pausing for a moment to watch the hooded figure. Their attention seemed to be focused on Dumbledore's speech, but Hermione couldn't help but feel that there was something out of place there, as though she had known this person before.

A few minutes later, her nerves got the best of her and Hermione peeked over her shoulder once more to try and identify the hooded figure, if she had in fact ever seen them before. What she saw was astounding. If it was who she—but no, not now, not after all these—

Hermione couldn't hold back the gasp that escaped as she locked eyes with the person. Those eyes were too familiar, too unexpected—they couldn't be _here._

It was too much to process, especially at this time of year. Mind reeling, Hermione felt herself reacting the only way she could--she fainted easily into the lap of her now-terrified husband.


End file.
